


stand by your man

by staycoolstaykind



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gore, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Just stay with me here, M/M, Somehow, Trope: Supporting the Monster Loved One, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23673913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staycoolstaykind/pseuds/staycoolstaykind
Summary: No matter how Johnny pulls himself apart, Mark will always be there to put him back together.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 79
Kudos: 230
Collections: NCT Spookfest Spring Scream





	stand by your man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PrittlePrince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrittlePrince/gifts).



> This is a gift to my sweet, smart, talented, incredibly dedicated wife [Ceebs](https://twitter.com/prittleceebs), who is working her ass off full time while I wander the house not sure what to do with myself until this whole pandemic bullshit is over. Thanks for always picking up my pieces, bub <3
> 
> Also, happy spring spookfest, my sweet creepies!

There’s blood all over the floor. It coats everything in a sick, dark red, pooling here and there, gelatinous and tacky as it congeals across the once-white tiles to leave pools of viscera. Stuck to the wall is what looks like a strip of flesh covered in matted black fur, barely hanging on as gravity drags it down to join the rest of the mess on the ground. Johnny stares at it in a sort of daze, naked and covered in grime, back propped up against the smooth wood of the bathroom door as he carefully tries to remember who he is. No, maybe that’s too dramatic. He knows who he is. What he is. What he really can’t seem to remember at the moment is what he’s done.

There are teeth scattered across gore-slick tiles, a bit too long and a bit too sharp to belong to anything human. Johnny knows that they’re his own, accepts this as fact even as he runs his tongue along all the corners and crevasses of his mouth to find everything present and accounted for. Every canine, every molar, every incisor is exactly where it needs to be. That's a small relief, and one that he clings to even as a forest fire of uncertainty rages inside of him.

There is a desperate sort of ache in his shoulder, a twinge in his lower back. The mess smeared across his skin is slimy and cold and he can feel that it’s gotten absolutely everywhere. With a soft grunt he hoists himself to his feet, staggering to the sink and gripping the edge of the counter with trembling fingers. The person staring at him from the mirror couldn't possibly be him, could it? Johnny Seo is something so much more than the hollow creature looking back at him. He's glittering. Golden. The life of the party and the centre of attention no matter where he goes. Yet what he sees instead is sunken. Monstrous.

There’s a knock at the door.

"Johnny?" Mark's voice, curious and concerned, calls out to him from the hallway. For a moment Johnny's heart wrenches, eyes looking frantically around the room for a quick means of escape. Mark knocks again, a solid "thud" followed by a gentle _tap-tap-tap-tap_ that means he's drumming his fingertips lightly against the door. "I've got the shower running in our bathroom if you're ready to get cleaned up."

And that's...oh, that's right, isn't it? He's not being hunted. Mark isn't waiting on the other side of the door ready to stumble into some unknown horror, to scream and call for help as he cowers away from Johnny’s aching body. He’s standing in the middle of their guest bathroom and Mark is waiting outside with a glass of water and two aspirin and the patience to put Johnny back together.

There’s a relief that floods his chest, so warm and so thick that he nearly chokes on it. Johnny turns slowly, hands shaking as he reaches for the door. Unlocks the door. Pulls it open. He wants so badly to make some sort of smirking, off-hand comment, to tell Mark that he's fine and he ought to stop worrying, but the words die on his lips. Instead he crumbles, swaying forward as any remaining adrenaline seeps out of him.

Mark's arms are always surprising in their strength, thin but steady, catching Johnny as he stumbles forward. Mark holds him, no hint of horror in the worried line of his brow. There’s no flinching desire to get away from the mess being rubbed against his ratty old t-shirt as Johnny curls into him. Just honest concern, honest love. He strokes a hand through Johnny's stringy hair, seemingly unbothered by the tacky red blood that streaks across his palm, turning to press his lips to a sweat-drenched temple.

"Rough night?" he asks softly, and Johnny huffs out a laugh. Something about Mark helps the remaining pieces of Johnny slide back into place. He stands up straight, letting out one last trembling breath before looking Mark in the eye.

"Was I stuck in the bathroom all night?" he asks, letting Mark take him by the hand and lead him down the hall. He follows Mark to the second floor, legs protesting with each step, the muscles in his thighs tight and tired. "It looks like I broke the cover to the toilet tank. I'll go get a new one as soon as Home Depot is open."

Mark scoffs, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm not worried about it. It works with or without the cover, we can just grab one later this weekend. And no, you did not hide in the bathroom all night. You got into my underwear drawer and chewed through six pairs of my boxers. When I yelled at you, you started crying and tried to hide under the bed." He pauses for a moment as if thinking, then adds, “But that’s it. It was an uneventful night, compared to some of the other times.”

There is a manic sort of laughter stuck somewhere high in Johnny’s chest, somewhat panicked and thin. If he had destroyed Mark’s stuff in any other way it might be real-life funny, but instead it just makes him anxious "Sorry about your underwear."

"Hey." Mark turns just outside of the bathroom, gaze serious as he meets Johnny's. "No more I'm sorries, okay? It's not like you can help it. Besides, it's not like you got into anything that can't be replaced. And it was hilarious seeing you try to shove yourself in the tiny ass space underneath the bed when I yelled at you."

His words are stern, but they melt the cold, hard thing that's been sitting where Johnny's stomach usually is. He feels himself relax, some of the tension draining from his muscles. "Thanks Marky," he mutters, leaning in for a kiss.

He's immediately met with a hand to his face, gently pushing him away. "Hey, I love you and everything, but you know I'm not kissing you until you brush your teeth. You spend like, half of your time like this laying around licking your balls." He grins when Johnny manages a laugh, opening the bathroom door and pushing him inside. "Get under the water and let everything loosen up, I'm going to clean the bathroom."

Johnny groans as he's pushed into the shower. "I can clean it, Mark..."

"Shut up," Mark insists lovingly, pulling the shower curtain open. It's white with sailing ships scrawled across it in sketchy dark blues, a gift from Mark's mom when they first got this place together. Johnny is careful not to brush against anything as he steps into the tub and lets Mark pull it closed behind him.

He barely hears the bathroom door open and shut as Mark leaves him to his own devices. He's too distracted by the stream of hot water stroking over his skin. Gently, like knots being untangled from damp hair, the pain in his body is worked loose and brushed away. He sighs and closes his eyes, trying to piece together everything that remains of last night.

There isn't a lot. His memories always fail him the night after a full moon, only coming back to him in quick flashes, still images. It's a bit like flipping through a photo album. Here there's a snapshot of his hand, held up as he watches the skin split and peel to reveal tufts of ink-black fur underneath. Here there's a picture of him mindlessly reaching his fingers into his own mouth, yanking his molars out of his own head to relieve some of the pressure that comes with fangs trying to force their way through his gums. He sees the porcelain of the tank lid lying on the bathroom floor in jagged pieces, collateral damage of his writhing, twisting body trying to escape its own skin.

And there, amidst it all, he sees flashes of Mark. Never frightened. Never frustrated. Just watching with an unending supply of patience as Johnny's mind is taken from him, replaced with something hungry and hollow.

Mark is his only constant on days like today, the only thing that helps him separate truth and fiction. One month Johnny had woken up convinced he had hurt someone, so vivid was the memory of the sound of screams. In the morning Mark had sheepishly confessed to staying up watching horror movies all night, probably not the most appropriate time to do so. Still, it was a relief. False memories, plucked out like weeds and thrown away. Disposed of as if they’re nothing.

Johnny groans, sagging against the wall of the shower. It leaves a rust-brown smear of blood behind but he can't really be bothered to care. It'll be easy enough to rinse away. He's too busy thinking about Mark. Mark fucking Lee. Who'd have ever thought?

It takes a while, but the door opens and closes once more as Mark returns from his mission. "Okay. Let's get you cleaned up, and then we'll order food. You're probably starving."

Right on queue Johnny's stomach rumbles, loud enough to be heard over the spray of the shower. "Fuck, I'm so hungry," he whines. "I could eat like. Three whole pizzas. Or fuck, barbecue! Can we get barbecue? I could probably consume an entire cow right now, no questions asked."

There's a shuffling of clothes as Mark strips down, laughing at Johnny's stream-of-conscious. "Man, you make me nervous when you talk about how hungry you are the morning after," he teases, stepping into the shower behind Johnny and pulling the curtain closed behind him. "Next thing I know I wake up from a nap to you chewing on my leg."

The shower isn't really made for two people, especially with Johnny’s long arms and tendency to knock things off of the shelves without noticing. Still, they make do. Mark's got a bit of blood on his hands and a small streak across his cheek where he must had wiped at his face without paying attention. He ignores it all in favour of grabbing a cloth, lathering it up, and scrubbing Johnny carefully from head to toe.

It feels...fucking incredible. "That feels fucking incredible," Johnny groans, head tipping back as Mark washes along his shoulders and down the trail of his spine. His touches are just shy of too-rough, which is perfect when Johnny aches all over and his skin feels like it's on too tight. He lets his head fall forward, sighs softly as Mark thoroughly cleans all of the mess from his skin, right down to his armpits and the space between his fingers. Once he's clean Mark guides Johnny gently under the spray, letting all of the horror rinse away and circle down the drain as he cleans the mess from his own body.

Drying down is a lazy tangle of limbs and affection, each trying to pat the other with the towels in their hands, laughing as they get in each other's way. Finally once they're dry enough to pad to the bedroom without dripping everywhere and Johnny’s teeth are brushed, Johnny can officially say that he feels human again. He leaves the master bathroom to immediately flop onto their bed, moaning dramatically as his body sinks into the mattress. "Holy fucking shit, literally every part of my body hurts."

Mark coos sympathetically as he goes through his dresser, pulling out a pair of flannel sleep pants and dragging them on. "You literally tear yourself apart, spend all night throwing yourself around the house, and then tear yourself apart again. And you slept for like, four hours on the bathroom floor," he says, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "It would be weird if you weren't in pain."

Hearing it like that feels strange. Heavy. Johnny knows Mark doesn't mean anything by his words, but they still send him spiraling down a path he's better off not traveling. He looks at Mark warily, cheek pillowed on his folded arms as he says, "It's a lot. For you, I mean. It's a lot for you. To have to go through this once a month? It's pretty fucked up, Mark."

Mark looks at him like he's an idiot, leaning back onto his elbows. "You're the one that turns into an actual animal. I don't have it half as bad as you do."

Johnny frowns, shrugging. "I don't know if I agree with that. I barely remember any of it, I just wake up in a pool of my own blood with like, no knowledge of what I got up to the night before. You're the one that has to make sure I don't slip out of the house and get into trouble. You also clean the bathroom the morning after, despite it being fucking gross as hell. And I keep eating your underwear. And that one time I wouldn’t stop humping your leg."

There's a memory, something solemn and sad. Mark, alone behind a closed door, retching and vomiting into the toilet after picking a piece of Johnny's skin out of the shower drain. A long, quiet day as they both coped with the loss of their life before, before a sharp bite and a scar that would never fade away. A promise to push through, to not let this be the end of them, the end of _this_.

And now there's Mark's hand, clean and cool as it rubs gently over Johnny's back, pulling him back to the present and away from the melancholy that threatens to undo him.

"It is gross," Mark admits, though he says it simply, as if he's commenting on something as boring as the weather. "But I guess it's no worse than that one time you got food poisoning when we went to Mexico. Honestly, I think I prefer this."

Johnny tries to look stern. "Mark."

"Johnny," he shoots back, raising an eyebrow. "What do you want me to say? It sucks for both of us. That's just...duh. But lots of things suck. I could have cancer, or we could both be stuck at jobs we hate, or our parents could be totally pissed about us being with another guy. It could be any number of things that millions of other people deal with every day. Sometimes things suck. You just...push through, I guess. Right?"

There is a weird sort of comfort in the things that Mark says, especially the morning after a full moon. He isn't a poet. Never has been, which is hilarious because his writing is so much more eloquent than the shit that comes out of his mouth. Still, the simplicity with which he says things always manages to put Johnny at ease. He sighs and nods, smushing his face back against his arms.

"You're right," he says, voice muffled against his own skin. "I hate it when you're right. But you're right."

"I know," Mark murmurs, reaching over to pat his ass. "Come on, get dressed. Let's get food and then we'll just chill in bed for the rest of the day. Neither of us got any decent sleep last night, I definitely need a fucking nap."

Johnny obeys despite the way his entire body complains with each movement, pulling on a pair of basketball shorts and a hoodie before following Mark downstairs.

There's a gift card that’s been waiting on the kitchen counter for three weeks now, fifty dollars to the barbecue place downtown. Johnny had won it through some work raffle, one that he had only joined because they asked him while he was in the middle of typing out an email to an important client. He decides on two entrees and a side of corn bread, scribbling his order frantically on an old Subway receipt as a laughing Mark dictates it all to someone over the phone. When the food comes an hour later they set up on the couch, making it through three episodes of Diners, Drive Ins and Dives as they eat.

Afterwards Mark cleans up, swatting away Johnny's attempts to help. "If you get off of that couch I'll kick your ass," he warns despite being half Johnny's size and sort of noodly. "You wouldn't make me clean if I had the stomach flu or some shit, would you?"

"No," Johnny mutters sullenly, and sinks back into the couch. He resigns himself to fucking around on his phone for a little while, checking all of his social media accounts while Mark organizes the recycling and cleans the handful of dishes they used. "But it's not like you get the stomach flu once a month."

"Well...you wouldn't make me clean up while I was on my period, then," Mark points out with a shrug. "It's like you're on your period."

Johnny opens his mouth. Finds himself at a loss for words. Shuts his mouth and shakes his head. Instead of arguing he flops down on his side, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to his chest as he watches YouTube on his phone. He stretches out with his legs flopped over the arm of the couch, head resting against the arm of the couch, dutifully trying to ignore the way his body aches and twinges with every moment his muscles deem to be "too much." It'll be like this for a few days. A few days of solid reminders of his affliction before everything goes back to normal and he can pretend again.

There's a moment of softness when Mark returns. He sits on the edge of the couch, leaning down to press a kiss to Johnny's shoulder. "Want to go lay down?" He's always so kind, so understanding in a way that makes Johnny ache. From the moment Johnny was bitten Mark has been golden, taking it all in stride, never once letting Johnny see him lose his footing. Johnny is grateful. Johnny wishes all the time that Mark was able to hate him, at least a little bit.

As they head back upstairs Johnny sees a smear of blood on the wall where he must have brushed against it earlier, makes a mental note to clean it up after a nap. For now all he can think about is sleeping somewhere that isn't the bathroom floor, letting Mark spoil him the way he never wants to admit he needs.

He hates to admit that he needs.

"Lay down," Mark instructs, pulling the blanket back and motioning to the mattress. He closes the blinds and draws the black-out curtains, casting the room in deep shadows that make it hard to see. Luckily Johnny doesn’t need to see, he knows this part like the back of his hand. Sliding under the sheets he sighs and lets his head hit the pillow, humming as his body responds to the sudden comfort.

They lay in silence for a while. Mark jostles Johnny around until he’s got him where he wants him, Mark’s slight, slim frame pressing in behind him as Johnny curls into the safety of being the little spoon. It’s perfect in a way nothing feels perfect anymore, a sliver of normalcy that Johnny clings to even as his world is torn apart just like he tears his own body apart to set something free, again and again. For now he’s comfortable, and he’s safe, and he’s loved.

It would really be a shame if he did something stupid to ruin the stillness of the moment, like run his mouth.

“What’s it like?” he asks out of nowhere, the words tumbling from his lips like a body falling from the edge of the building. It’s a choice, and it’s one you regret the moment you’ve made it. Still, now that it’s out he has to keep going. He’s avoided this question for a long time now. “When I change. What does it look like from your end?”

Mark sighs, a small huff of annoyance that clearly says, _I wish you wouldn’t do this shit right before we take a nap._ Still, when it comes to this they’ve got a policy of brutal honesty. It’s the only way they’ve made it this far.

“It’s rough,” Mark mutters, resting his forehead against the back of Johnny’s shoulder, arms wrapping tightly around his waist. Johnny lets himself be pulled closer into the curl of Mark’s body, as if Mark might somehow be able to protect him from what he’s about to hear. “It’s like...it’s like all of a sudden your skin doesn’t fit. You get sort of twitchy and irritated, like you’re stuck wearing this really uncomfortable sweater that you can’t wait to get out of. But you’re still you, at least.”

There is a long silence as Mark pauses, breathes, collects his thoughts. “And then you stop being you. If I have my timing right I’m able to get you into like, the kitchen or bathroom or some shit. Somewhere that I can mop up the blood without worrying about staining the carpet. And then I just...sit there and watch you tear your skin off.”

This part Johnny knows. He’s heard how he tears at his own flesh, peeling it away in long, jagged strips to reveal something hunched and furred and snarling underneath. He knows that his fingers protrude through his skin like a glove that’s been pulled to tight, splitting at the seams to reveal what’s hidden below. He knows that he tears his own teeth out so his fangs can grow in, that he claws at his eyes and rips them straight from their sockets to make room for what is waiting underneath.

“And then you eat your own skin and it’s the grossest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Mark finishes lamely before immediately burying his face against Johnny’s back once more.

The next question is just as terrifying as the first, but it’s the most important. “I’ve never...I’ve never tried to hurt you, have I?” he asks. Quiet. Small. 

“No Johnny. Never,” Mark says, and there’s conviction in his voice. “Even when you’re different you know it’s me. Sometimes you grab my shit and run across the house wagging your tail like a puppy that wants to play because even as a wolf you’re annoying as fuck. You try to hump my leg and you roll around in my underwear. You know me even when you don’t know yourself.” He hums, hooking his chin over Johnny’s shoulder, giving him a small squeeze. “And if you did ever do anything that put me in danger? We’d figure it out. I mean, you’d have an existential crisis, try to break up with me, blah blah, but we’d come back from it. Come up with a new plan. Because that’s what we do, yeah? Figure it out.”

Johnny nods, blinking quickly so Mark doesn’t notice he’s crying. Mark will absolutely make fun of him if he notices he’s crying. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Hey.” Johnny quickly wipes his eyes and turns his head to see Mark considering him in the scant light, sitting with his legs tucked under him. “Can I blow you?”

It surprises a laugh out of him, the heaviness of the moment all but forgotten. There’s a frank, honest way that Mark talks about sex that Johnny’s always admired. Even when this was new, when they were just two dudes making out in the bathroom of that weird sports bar above that supposedly haunted seafood restaurant downtown, Mark had been blatantly unashamed of his desires. Still, it catches Johnny off guard as he tries to see Mark through the dim light.

“What? You don’t have to. Just chill, you’re tired too.”

Mark settles onto his side, cuddling up against Johnny. “I know I don’t have to. I want to. My brain is in like, overdrive wanting to take care of you right now, and this is just one more way I want to do it.”

Johnny grins, turning into the kiss that Mark brushes against his lips. Mark kisses him like he’s trying to win him over, like Johnny needs to be convinced or something. What starts as their mouths gently working together turns into desperate huffs of breath and tangled tongues, Johnny’s hand lifting to fist in Mark’s hair as he holds him in place, kisses him the way he likes best.

There’s a bottle of lube in the nightstand on Johnny’s side of the bed. They keep it there because his arms are longer, because it takes less adjusting for him to reach when they’re in the middle of something good and they don’t want to pull apart to get it. This time though it’s Mark that flops on top of him and stretches across, digging through the drawer blindly before finding his prize.

“You gonna fuck me?” Johnny asks lazily, resting his hand on the small of Mark’s back and digging his fingertips lightly into the muscle there. He can’t deny that it’s a nice thought, especially if Mark’s the one doing all of the work. Sometimes it’s fun to be a pillow princess, to get on his back and just _take._ Who says big guys can’t be small sometimes?

Mark makes a noncommittal noise as he kisses along the line of Johnny’s jaw. “Dunno yet,” he says, as he puts the lube somewhere close by. “Maybe later? That’s too much cleanup right now and I want to nap when we’re done.” He leans in to kiss Johnny again, sucking hard on his lower lip, digging his teeth into the soft pout of Johnny’s mouth. “Anything you don’t want to do right now?”

“Move,” Johnny half moans, half laughs. “Can I just...be lazy?”

“Of course you can,” Mark snorts, adjusting to straddle Johnny’s hips. “That’s sort of the whole point right now. Just lie back and enjoy it.”

There’s a confidence in the way Mark touches Johnny, something that comes from years of practice. His hands are steady and sure, smooth as they find all of the ways to shift Johnny’s pain into pleasure, winding him tight before soothing the tension again and again. There’s a palm circling flat over his belly, a thigh pressed between his legs that’s _just_ an inch too far for him to rub against. A thumb lazily circling his nipple. In no time at all Johnny is panting, hands gripping the sheets as he tries to stay still.

“I haven’t even done anything yet,” Mark teases as he nibbles at Johnny’s earlobe, drawing his tongue in a tickling circle along the shell of his hear. “What’s got you so worked up?”

“ _You_ , you asshole,” Johnny mutters, biting back a moan as Mark sinks his teeth into the side of his neck. “You’re such a fucking tease.”

Johnny can’t see Mark shrug, but he can practically feel it. It’s just as tangible as the hand that slides down his stomach to palm at the inside of his thigh, grabbing the meat of his flesh hard enough to sting before rubbing soothing circles into his skin. Johnny moans and spreads his legs, his cock thick and eager. Every touch is perfect. The way Mark swings back and forth between harsh and firm and tender and achingly gentle is making his head spin, but also somehow working those last knots of doubt and tension out of him.

“Just because I don’t grab your dick first thing doesn’t mean I’m a tease,” Mark snorts, leaning in to circle his tongue around a stiff nipple, taking it between his lips and sucking until Johnny’s hand flies up to tangle in his hair. He lots go with a small, wet _pop_. “You’re just impatient.”

“I had a long night,” Johnny pouts, hoping Mark’s eyes have adjusted enough to see it.

It works. Mark snorts again but there’s no bite to it, and the sound is followed quickly by the soft snap of their bottle of KY bottle being opened. A moment later Mark’s hand is wrapping easily around his length, stroking slowly up and down to spread the lube. 

There’s a sizzling spark of pleasure that surges through Johnny’s body, dancing from nerve ending to nerve ending, filling him with heat. He moans softly and closes his eyes as Mark’s confident hand works him harder, tugging and twisting and teasing all the spots he likes best until his cock stands rigid against his stomach. A bead of precome collects at the tip, threatening to tremble and fall before Mark’s thumb catches it, spreading it along the tip in a way that makes Johnny’s thighs shake.

“Holy fuck that feels good,” he sighs, voice low, thick like he’s swallowed a mouthful of gravel. “Jesus, fuck Mark…” It’s all he can really think to say. The areas of his brain usually reserved for communication are now hollowed out and replaced with this, a deep, searing arousal that seems to fill every empty space within him. He frees his hand from the sheets to grab at Mark instead, reaching for his hip, squeezing hard enough to communicate just how good he feels.

Mark hums, circling his palm over the head of Johnny’s cock with agonizing slowness. “You’re kind of easy, big guy,” he teases, though there’s no mistaking how breathless he sounds. “A handjob is really all it takes to drive you crazy.”

“Shut up,” Johnny whines, eyebrows knit together. He rocks his hips up slowly into the circle of Mark’s fist, working himself deeper into his grasp with small, short jerks. “Why are you so mean to me?”

“Aw, I’m not mean, Johnny,” Mark purrs. He leans down, pressing a sucking kiss just to the inside of Johnny’s hip bone. “I’m so, so nice.”

Before Johnny can continue his whining Mark moves lower, dragging his tongue slowly across Johnny’s slit, collecting the precome and lapping it away. Johnny groans, the sound low in his chest. Gone are thoughts of teeth and claws and blood strewn across pristine white tiles, replaced instead with the soft, aching beauty of being _taken care of_. Mark gets him. Mark’s _got_ him.

And Mark’s fucking thorough. He licks and sucks and teases the length of Johnny’s dick before moving down to give his balls the same attention, lapping at them one after the other until Johnny makes a sound that’s way too tiny for a guy as tall as he is. As Mark takes his length in his mouth once more his hand cradles Johnny’s balls perfectly, stroking and tugging as he sinks down halfway, cheeks hollowing as he pulls back up.

“Mark,” Johnny gasps, thighs tensing, cock twitching against the cradle of Mark’s tongue. “Fuck, will you fuck me?”

Mark moans, closing his lips around the head and just barely sucking. It’s teasing, and light, and so, so good. He continues for a bit before pulling off, lips making a wet, lewd sound as he does.

“Yeah, I’ll fuck you,” he pants, sounding a lot more worked up then he did before he got Johnny’s dick in his mouth. His words are swiftly followed by the _click_ of the lube opening once more, the wet sound of slick being worked between Mark’s fingers.

“Okay, knees up.” Johnny quickly does as told, spreading his legs and drawing his knees to his chest. After a moment he grabs a pillow, shoving it under his hips to put him in a better position. His foresight is immediately rewarded by Mark running the back of his knuckles lightly between his cheeks, stroking soft and dry over his hole, making his body shiver in anticipation of what’s to come.

There’s a confidence in the way that Mark touches him that wasn’t there when they first started dating. Mark used to question himself so fucking much. Now he lets himself enjoy Johnny’s body with practiced ease, taking what he knows belongs to him. He knows that his middle finger, worked in a tight circle around Johnny’s entrance, will make Johnny gasp and whine for more. He knows that Johnny can take two fingers to start, that they’ve done this enough that he’s ready for them without any other prep. He also knows that Johnny likes a good stretch, so he quickly moves to three, scissoring them instantly as Johnny squirms at the intrusion.

“Feels good?” Mark breathes, crooking his fingers just so and gliding them over Johnny’s sweet spot. That earns him a strangled cry in return, which he takes as enough of a sign that he’s doing a good job.

If this were a normal Tuesday night and they just felt like fucking he’d really take his time. Spread Johnny out on his stomach, get his tongue on him, tease him until he was gagging for it. Right now though they’re both tired, both looking forward to a nap just as much as they’re looking forward to an orgasm. So Mark reaches over Johnny to grab a condom from the nightstand, rolling it on in one smooth motion.

“Condom?” Johnny murmurs, voice husky. 

“Yeah, don’t feel like cleaning up after,” Mark says, earning a breathless laugh from Johnny. He negotiates Johnny’s legs until they’re hooked around his skinny hips, taking himself at hand and guiding himself into the tight grip of Johnny’s body.

Johnny hisses out a strangled noise, back arching as Mark pushes in. All of the pains of waking up on the bathroom floor covered in his own viscera are forgotten in an instant, replaced instead with a beautiful, aching fullness that satisfies his frazzled nerves. His lungs hitch in a sharp breath and releases it in a low moan, his body sinking deeper, his muscles going lax. “Fuuuuuck.”

As soon as he’s pressed all the way in Mark leans down, brushing a kiss to the centre of Johnny’s chest. His hands rest on Johnny’s thighs, pressing them up and out. They always feels so big on Johnny’s skin, disproportionate in the way all of Mark’s body seems to be—his hands, his feet, his cock, all so much bigger then you’d ever expect compared to the rest of him. It’s weird to be under someone so small and still feel so _safe_.

Mark keeps his grip tight on Johnny’s thighs as he fucks him, alternating between long, hard thrusts and lazy grinding that rubs perfectly against Johnny’s prostate. For a while Johnny’s happy to lay there and take it; Mark seems to know exactly what he needs right now, never stringing him too far along before setting a quick pace that makes his toes curl. And then Mark gets his hand around his dick and all Johnny can do is throw his head back and beg for more.

“Mark, fuck,” he pants, sweat slicking his hairs to his temples. They’re going to need to shower again later. Much later. “Come on, I want to fucking come, please…”

“What’s stopping you?” Mark pants, voice so much lower than normal. Commanding. As if he’s been given permission Johnny’s hand shoots down to wrap around Mark’s, urging him to stroke faster, grip him tighter. He’s leaking so much that their hands are a slick mess where they tangle together, but Johnny can’t be bothered to care.

“C’mere,” he moans, using his free arm to pull Mark in for a kiss. The positioning is all wrong—Mark is too short, Johnny has to crane his neck to reach him—but they manage, lips pressed together and tongues tangling. 

Mark bites at his lower lip, tugging viciously. “Come on,” he pants, hips slapping against Johnny’s ass, hand twisting and stroking almost viciously. “Come on, do it.”

All Johnny can really do it grit his teeth, nodding frantically at Mark’s words. His muscles pull tight, breath short and sharp, teeth clenched together as something high and inhumane tears itself from his throat. The tension snaps and he’s coming, eyes wide and unseeing as he spills onto their twined fingers. 

There’s a minute or two where everything seems to blend together. Johnny’s senses all but shut down, eyes blurry, ears ringing. Vaguely, he can feel when Mark comes; Mark slumps over on top of him, weight collapsing on top of Johnny’s spent body, boneless and satisfied. With trembling arms Johnny reaches up to hold him close, thoughtlessly smearing come over his shoulder.

A few minutes pass. They slowly regain themselves, senses coming back online one by one, until Johnny can fully appreciate the heavy gratification that settles over him. He hums as Mark pulls out, sprawling out over the bed as the condom is disposed of and Mark grabs a wad of tissues from the box besides the bed to clean them up.

“Good show, Lee,” Johnny yawns, wincing only slightly as Mark wipes at the mess on his stomach. He’s not exactly _clean,_ but it’s good enough for now. “Nap?”

“Nap,” Mark agrees, disposing of the trash and crawling back into bed. He spoons up behind Johnny once more, snuggling close. “You feel better?”

Johnny closes his eyes, yawns. “Yeah. I feel a lot fucking better. Thanks for taking care of me, Marky.”

Mark kisses his shoulder, lets his lips linger there, even as he speaks. “Always.” They lay just like that until Johnny is out cold, dead to the world and cradled in the safety of Mark’s arms as he sleeps.

-

There’s a staircase that leads down to the basement, thirteen steps illuminated by a watery yellow light that hangs naked from the ceiling above. Mark is careful to lock the basement door behind him as he ascends. It’s not that he thinks Johnny will wake up, not for a few hours at least; Johnny is a heavy sleeper the night after the full moon, he barely wakes up to his alarm clock in the morning. Still, you can’t be too careful. So Mark locks the door from the inside before making his way down, sliding a thick deadbolt into place that Johnny somehow hasn’t noticed in the three years since he’s been bitten. 

The basement is full of a bunch of bullshit they barely ever think about; Christmas decorations, winter clothes, the mismatched couches that used to be in the living room before they upgraded to a nice, real-life adult set they got on Wayfair. They really ought to have a garage sale or something. It’s a little PTA mom, but it’ll at least clear some of the junk out of their lives. 

They deserve that. Johnny deserves that. A clean life, one that’s free of blood and bullshit.

There’s a tarp covering something in the corner of the room. Mark approaches it slowly, fingers wiggling and twitching anxiously as he moves a few old boxes out of the way to clear some space. When he reaches out to grab the tarp his fingers hover there for a moment, gathering courage, before grabbing the crinkled blue plastic and tugging it away with little resistance.

There’s a body under the tarp, laying in a tangled heap, its sightless eyes staring at Mark as if watching him approach. The corpse is almost unrecognizable with how badly chewed up it is, great chunks of flesh and muscle and fat torn away to expose the soft, wet things underneath. The thing is, there’s just enough of the face left for Mark to place it. He knows this guy. This fucker used to catcall him any time he drove by when Mark was outside on the front lawn, even got ahold of Mark’s phone number somehow and started sending creepy messages until Mark paid to change his number. 

There’s a coppery stench of blood and meat filling the air. It’s different than the blood he cleans off of the floor after Johnny changes; it’s slimy, coagulated, not quite as easy to choke down the bile that rises in the back of his throat. But it’s fine. Mark is fine. He’s got to take care of Johnny. Sometimes that means cleaning up his messes, whatever those messes are. 

There’s a space in Mark’s heart where the fear used to be, but he’s done this too many times now to pay it any mind.

There’s a sharp knife in his hand and a determined look on his face. 

“I have your back,” he murmurs, kneeling down next to the body. He adjusts his grip on the knife and gets to work.

**Author's Note:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/alleywhomst)


End file.
